


The Memory Remains

by messageredacted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam always wanted to have a normal life. Why is that so hard to come by?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Memory Remains

**Author's Note:**

> LGBTFest Prompt 776. Supernatural: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester. Sam gets captured by a djinn, like Dean in 2.20 - like Dean, he wishes for his mother to have not died. Unlike Dean, his alternate life involves one or both of the boys being gay. Possibly they are in a relationship, and Sam has to struggle to understand what this means about his sexuality and his feelings towards his brother.
> 
> Originally written 18 May 2008.

“Can you imagine what this hotel was like when it was new?” Sam’s flashlight beam bounces over a carved cherub holding a rose over an arched doorway.

“Tacky,” Dean whispers back, his voice raspy with all the dust they’ve kicked up so far. He treads carefully on a soft, rotten floorboard, which creaks but holds his weight.

The round moon face of Aphrodite emerges from the gloom. She barely clutches a flowing length of fabric to her breasts as she stands at the foot of a sweeping staircase. The staircase was once grand, although now it sags like a hammock between the two railings. The air smells so thickly of rot that Sam can taste it on his tongue, and the light filtering through the broken doors behind them is the flat, watery gray of a rainy afternoon.

Dean points with his flashlight to the reception desk, where a brass bell still sits inexplicably next to the shredded remains of a wasp’s nest. He raises his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugs. Dean grins and makes his way to the desk. Sam sighs.

“That’s probably not a good—” he starts to hiss.

A noise echoes somewhere up the stairs. They both immediately freeze and Sam meets Dean’s eyes. Dean reaches into his bag and takes out a silver knife and jar of lamb’s blood. He dips the knife, returns the jar to the bag, and then nods at Sam. They both head for the stairs.

Sam keeps close to the edge, ready to grab the railing at the first sign of trouble. Plaster and dust lie in drifts in the hollows of the stairs, untouched by human feet for quite a long time. Even the teenage vandals seem to have had the common sense to avoid this staircase. Sam licks the back of his teeth, grimacing at the dusty taste, and moves carefully up another step.

Another noise: the faintest clink of chain. Sam reaches the top of the stairs first, glancing left and right; no one in sight. He turns to Dean and starts to whisper, “It sounds like—”

Dean’s foot goes through the next step as if it were made of paper. He grabs desperately for the railing and it snaps off in his hand. When his hip and shoulder hit the next step, everything collapses in a cloud of dry rot. Sam lunges forward without thinking and one foot goes through the top step. Suddenly he’s thigh deep in the staircase. Where Dean was, there is only billowing dust.

“Dean,” he rasps in a half-whisper, half-shout. The back of his mind registers the ridiculousness of trying to be quiet after half the fucking staircase collapsed, but all he can think of is his brother. “Dean!”

There is a long stretch of silence, through which Sam can feel his heart throbbing in the back of his throat, and then somewhere below him he hears a cough.

“Dean, are you okay?”

Another cough. “Yeah,” Dean says raggedly. “Think my leg is fucked up, though.”

“I’ll be right down.” Sam braces his hands and one knee on the floor and gingerly starts pulling his leg out of the hole. There is a long scrape up his thigh and this pair of jeans has seen its last days, but he’s otherwise intact. “I’m going to find another way down. I don’t want it to collapse on you.”

“Sammy, be careful,” Dean calls up to him. Sam gets to his feet.

“I will,” he replies.

The hallway at the top of the staircase extends left and right. Each one is lined with closed doors. If there is an alternate set of stairs, it’s probably at the far end of the halls. He chooses the right-hand hall and starts carefully limping down it.

There is still some hint of the building’s grandeur here in the faded strips of wallpaper and the few remaining wall sconces. All of the doors but one are shut. Sam moves as fast as he can while trying to be as quiet and as careful of the floorboards as possible.

He is halfway down the hall when he hears the noise again, a clink of chain. It’s behind him. He turns around.

One of the hallway doors is open, sending a spill of light into the hallway. Sam draws his gun and freezes, listening. Dean has the knife and the lamb’s blood. All the bullets will do is slow it down.

Someone whimpers and the chain clinks. Sam steps toward the door.

A hand touches his shoulder and Sam whirls around, raising his gun, his breath catching in his throat. He barely catches a glimpse of a blue tattooed face and then there is a hand on his face and a blinding light.

##

“Up and at ’em, Sammy!”

Sam groans and drags the pillow over his head. There is music playing loudly somewhere and even with the pillow over his head, it is far too loud. He inhales the smell of fabric softener and musk.

Someone sits heavily on his side of the bed. Sam catches himself from rolling forward and puts out a hand to stop himself. Dean drags the pillow off his head and grins down at him.

“You have class in an hour and a half,” Dean says. “If I can’t skip work, you can’t skip class.” Dean tosses the pillow on the floor and whacks him on the ass. “Up.”

Dean gets up again and walks over to the mirror to adjust his tie. Sam blinks sleepily at him.

“What?” he says cleverly.

“What what?” Dean replies. He winks at Sam in the mirror. “Hung over?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam says, sitting up. They are not in a motel room. There is a desk against the far wall with a desktop computer on it and a stack of books. The walls are covered in posters, Metallica and Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. His mind runs over this obvious skip in his personal timeline like a tongue running over the spot where a tooth used to be. The last thing he remembers is the hotel and the flash of blue light. Was he unconscious? How much time has passed?

There is only one bed. Sam stares down at it. The sheets are navy blue, and it is obvious that two people slept in it last night.

“Do you remember last night at all?” Dean’s amused expression flickers slightly.

Sam looks up at him again, absently noting that Dean is wearing a button-down shirt and a tie. “I remember a hotel, and you falling through the stairs, and…I think there was a djinn.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yep, there was gin, and a whole lot of beer, too. Man, I didn’t know you were such a lightweight.” He glances at his watch. “Alright, I’m out of here.” He comes back across the room to Sam again, stopping just in front of him. “You don’t remember last night at all?”

Sam scratches his nose, thinking of the taste of dry rot. “The last I remember, we were in South Carolina.”

Dean gets a strange look on his face. He reaches out and cups Sam’s chin in his hand.

“We’ve never been to South Carolina, dude.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Sam’s mouth.

Sam freezes.

“Well don’t forget the party tonight.” Dean grins and straightens up again. “If Mom calls, don’t tell her where we’re taking them. Just say we’re taking them out for pizza or something. I’ll pick you up at four.” He leaves the room.

##

When Sam was thirteen, attending middle school for a brief stint in Massachusetts, he joined Mock Trial. They met in a classroom after school with Mrs. Nelson, mostly fooling around, sometimes going over their assigned case, while Mrs. Nelson graded papers, drank coffee and joked with the students.

Sam decided to be a lawyer for the defense, not just because it looked interesting but also because the defendant was being played by Jerrell Peters. Jerrell was a skinny eighth grader with narrow dark eyes and a sort of swanlike grace that most of the kids in the middle school, especially the boys, simply did not have. Sam, a foot taller, had all the coordination of a newborn giraffe and mostly hunched over and folded himself up so as not to stick out too much.

Jerrell was also flamboyantly gay. He sat in the back of the classroom in the center of a group of girls, all of whom hung on his every word as he expounded on some doubtlessly fascinating topic. Sam sat across the room, taking notes from the packet of case information and stealing glances over at the group. He wanted to join them, but he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse. If he did sit with them, would other people think he was gay? Would Jerrell? He didn’t want to be like the girls in the group, watching Jerrell in adoration. He wanted, somehow, for Jerrell to notice Sam, to acknowledge his existence.

Sam finished his notes and then, after a moment of paralyzing indecision, got up and walked over to the group. As he got closer, he could hear what they were saying.

“Oh, he’s so gay,” Jerrell was saying.

“What about Mrs. Nelson?” one of the girls asked. Everyone giggled

Jerrell thought for a second. “Straight,” he said. “Probably.”

“What about me?” another girl asked. Jerrell smirked.

“Hmmm… I think you’re a little bit bent.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Um,” he said.

Everyone looked up at him. Jerrell raised one eyebrow. “You want me to tell you if _you’re_ gay?”

“I, uh,” Sam stammered, holding up his notebook. “I wanted to go over the questions…”

A couple of the girls giggled. Jerrell glanced at them and smirked.

“Yeah, I’ll be over in a minute.”

Sam hesitated, on the verge of saving his dignity and heading back to his seat. “So, um, am I?”

“Are you what?”

“Am I straight?”

Jerrell’s smirk widened a little and the girls giggled again. His eyes ran over Sam in a way that made him acutely uncomfortable in ways that he wasn’t entirely sure he understood.

“Yeah,” Jerrell said dismissively, turning away from Sam. “You’re straight.”

Sam returned to his desk, feeling oddly disappointed.

##

Sam waits until he hears a door slam and then he scrambles out of bed. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of boxers. The sweatshirt says University of Kansas School of Law. He’s still marveling at that when he steps out of the room.

It’s an apartment. There’s a saggy couch and a coffee table in this room, and a guitar mounted on the wall. One wall is taken up with a brick fireplace. A short hall leads to the front door. Sam peers out the small window beside the door to see the Impala pulling away from the curb of a narrow street lined with houses.

On the other side of the living room is another hall. One open door leads into another bedroom, with a twin bed, another desk and computer, and an armchair and lamp. There is a University of Kansas Jayhawks poster on the wall. Sam realizes suddenly that this is his own bedroom.

Then why did he wake in Dean’s bed?

He doesn’t want to think about it. He wanders into the kitchen, which has dirty dishes in the sink in typical bachelor pad fashion.

The phone rings shrilly. He reaches for the phone and hesitates for a second, then picks it up.

“Hello?”

“If there’s a surprise party, I’m going to kill you,” says a woman’s voice.

“Uh…” Sam blinks at the wall. “M-Mom?”

“I know Dean’s up to something.” The woman laughs. “He’s always up to something. I won’t tell him you told me. Where are you taking us for dinner?”

“Just pizza or something,” Sam chokes out.

“Sure you are. Could you put him on?”

“He just went to work.”

“All right. You’re off the hook for now.” She laughs again. “What time will we see you tonight?”

“Dean’s picking me up at four,” Sam says.

“Okay, we’ll see you around four-thirty then?”

“I guess.”

“Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Sam listens to the dial tone, then slowly hangs up the phone again.

The djinn did this. He’s probably hanging up in the hotel right now, being drained of his blood. This is just a delusion. And yet…

He picks up the phone again and dials from memory. The phone rings twice and then a woman’s sleepy voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Jess?” he says.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Sam. Sam Winchester.”

A pause, then an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m still asleep. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Sam presses his forehead against the wall. “We met once. It was a while ago. I just wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“Yeah, things are great. Look, could you call back another time?”

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Sam says. “Sure, I’ll call again later.”

“Bye, Sam,” Jess says and hangs up.

##

When Dean comes home, Sam is dressed and sitting at his computer, an untouched cup of coffee at his elbow. His eyes are burning from staring at the computer screen all day, but he can’t tear himself away.

“God that was a long day,” Dean says from the doorway. “What are you up to?”

“Research,” Sam mumbles.

Dean saunters over and picks up the top page on the pile that Sam has printed. “Who is this Madison chick?”

“Someone who never died,” Sam says, looking up at him. “Pastor Jim and Caleb are still alive. Bobby Singer is married with two kids.”

Dean’s gaze flicks to him and he puts the paper back down on the pile. “Ooookay,” he says. “I have…no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sam takes the pile of papers and flips through them, turning back to the computer. “What I’m saying is that the supernatural doesn’t exist.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “I’m, uh, glad we’re on the same page here.” He casually rests a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam feels the gust of Dean’s breath a second before he kisses him on the side of the neck.

Sam cringes away, goosebumps running down his spine. He gets out of his chair, putting space between himself and Dean. “Would you stop that?”

There is an expression of complete bemusement on Dean’s face. “What the hell is your problem?”

Sam rubs his neck. “What are you…We—We’re brothers!”

“Christ, Sam, we are? You should have said something earlier!” Dean spits. “I knew you didn’t forget last night.” He turns and stalks from the room.

Sam hesitates, his hand on his neck. With one last glance at the pile of papers, he follows after Dean.

Dean is standing in the kitchen, viciously sorting through the mail. Sam can see the tension in his back.

“I don’t really remember last night at all,” Sam says, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. “Could you tell me what happened?”

Dean snorts and doesn’t say anything. Sam sighs and steps closer. Dean rips open an envelope and studies it with an intensity that the piece of junk doesn’t warrant.

“Dean,” Sam prompts.

Dean throws the envelope down and turns towards Sam. Sam almost steps back at the look of disgust and anger on Dean’s face.

“Cut the act,” Dean snarls. “Are you really this fucking manipulative? I don’t like ultimatums, Sam. It’s all or nothing with you. All I say is that I want some time and now you’re pretending—I don’t know what the fuck you’re pretending. Just get over yourself, okay? I’m going to wait in the car.”

He storms from the room again and this time Sam doesn’t follow.

##

The Winchesters managed to stay in one place for most of Sam’s junior year of high school. He briefly dated a girl named Natalie for a few months and once Dean even let Sam borrow the Impala for a date with her. The car worked like a charm and Sam and Natalie got most of the way to second base before she suddenly remembered her curfew and that was the end of that.

A few weeks later Natalie was seen around school with Jared, the football player, and Sam found himself single again in the spring of his junior year, and suddenly it was prom season.

Sam had thought about prom briefly when he and Natalie were still together. He didn’t care enough about his classmates to want to see them at the prom, but he had been willing to put up with it for Natalie’s sake. Now that he was Natalie-free, however, there was no reason to go.

At lunchtime, Sam sat in the first floor cafeteria. The third floor cafeteria generally held the popular kids, the athletes and the cheerleaders. The second floor cafeteria held the band kids, the theater kids and the honors students. The first floor cafeteria held the goths, the kids in the vocational program, the sped kids, and the kids who sat in the back of the classroom and burned themselves with their lighters. And Sam.

Sam sat with a group of people who didn’t pay him too much attention while he ate his lunch. There were Amy and Becca, who were art students; Perry, a very quiet freshman who was probably a sped; and then there was Larry, a sophomore voc kid who wore safety pins in both of his ears and eyeliner under his eyes.

“Have you got your dress yet?” Becca was asking Amy, stabbing at her salad with a plastic fork.

“Yes!” Amy exclaimed. “I got it on Saturday. It’s so great.”

“What does it look like?”

Amy started to describe it. Sam turned a page in his book, finishing his homework for the next class.

“I wish I were going to prom,” said Larry morosely. “All my friends are going.”

“Why can’t you?” Becca asked.

“I’m just a sophomore. I can only go if I’m going with a junior. You got a date?”

Amy laughed. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Do you?” Larry asked Becca.

She grinned at him. “Already taking someone.”

Larry sighed. “Do you know anyone else who doesn’t have a date?”

“You can go with me,” Sam said. Everyone at the table turned and looked at him.

“Seriously?” Larry asked, brightening. He grinned at Sam. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” Sam said, his mouth dry. He looked back down at his book, trying to hide a blush.

There was a permission slip that had to be signed, and fifty dollars to be paid, but Sam had been saving in case he had to take Natalie and he had grown adept at forging his father’s signature on forms. Sam rented a tux.

One of Larry’s friends was driving, and they picked up Sam at the house and drove to the dance hall. Sam sat in the back seat, thigh to thigh with Larry and a girl he didn’t know, and felt his palms sweating. He wasn’t really nervous about what people were going to think of him; a lot of people brought their lower classmen friends to the dance, and Sam knew that in a couple months he would be living somewhere else and no one would remember him. But still, here he was, in a tuxedo, with a guy he had kinda sorta asked to the prom, that he was pretty sure was gay.

There were pictures being taken by a professional photographer outside, and inside the place was decorated in some sort of “under the sea” theme. Larry’s friends grabbed a table and then disappeared to go gush at their friends. Sam found himself wandering through the room, the terrace, and back again until dinner was served.

Sam found himself regretting his decision pretty early on, as Larry and his friends disappeared to dance and Sam remained sitting at the table, picking at the plate of cookies leftover from dinner. He regretted coming with Larry’s friends, although there were teachers at the doors keeping any students from leaving early so there was nothing he could do about it. Natalie was there, dancing with Jared. After an hour or two, the dj began to throw in a slow song or two, and Sam rested his head on his chin and watched Natalie drape herself over Jared and slowly sway to the music.

“Hey,” someone said. Sam looked up to see Larry standing there. He went all out with his tophat, tails and white gloves, although a teacher had confiscated his walking stick, and he was still wearing safety pins in his ears.

“Hi,” Sam said. He picked up another cookie and shoved it in his mouth.

“So, um. You wanna dance?”

The cookie in his mouth was suddenly dry. Sam swallowed painfully. “Uh, what?”

Larry looked embarrassed. He glanced away. “Never mind.”

“No, wait. Sure.”

“Okay.” Larry smiled and offered a hand to Sam. Sam took it.

Afterwards Sam didn’t remember too much of the dance itself, just awkwardly holding Larry and swaying to Lady in Red while students shot glances their way. But even though Larry went off and found his friends again as soon as the dance ended and Sam returned to his chair, Sam found himself grinning for the rest of the night.

##

Twenty-three years have aged Mary Winchester gently. Sam finds himself hesitating in the doorway, searching his mother’s face as she smiles warmly at him.

“It’s my favorite son!” she says, sweeping Sam into a hug. “Oh, and Dean, you’re here too!”

“Alright, Sam, cancel the reservations at Chez Felice. We’re going to Pizza Hut for dinner,” Dean says behind Sam.

Mary lets go of Sam and gives Dean a hug as well. “Chez Felice? You’re kidding.”

“Hey, Sam. Hey Dean.” John appears in the living room. He looks ten years younger, clean-shaven and happy.

Sam feels his heart wrench and all he can think about is the car crash, the hospital, the funeral pyre. “Dad,” Sam says, his throat clenching. He throws his arms around his father.

John laughs in surprise. “I only just saw you last week.”

“I know,” Sam mumbles, hugging him tightly. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“Happy anniversary,” Dean says.

“So how many years is it?” Sam asks casually, letting go of his father.

“Don’t remind me,” Dean says. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Mary winks at him. “It’s thirty years, isn’t it, darling? And it was only two months after our wedding that I had the best wedding gift ever.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Let me tell you, there were a few raised eyebrows when I walked down the aisle in white.”

Dean groans and Mary laughs. “Someday you are going to have to accept that your father and I have had sex at least twice!”

“At least,” John agrees, adjusting his tie.

##

Afterwards, they stop at an ice cream place, even though it’s cold out. Mary and John share a cone, sitting next to each other on stools. John licks the cone and then they playfully tussle over it. Mary wraps her hands around John’s and tugs the cone towards her mouth. John watches her with a smile on his lips as she licks the ice cream.

Sam feels a sudden dizzying rush of desperation in his chest. This is what his father would have been like if Mary had never died. Sam hadn’t known Mary long enough to mourn her death, except for how it affected his dad and his brother. If this were real and not just a dream of the djinn, then there was no reason Sam would ever want to change it back and take that happiness from his father.

Would it really be so bad not to fight the djinn? Sure, his body was probably hanging somewhere in the hotel, being drained of its blood. Sure, the djinn probably had Dean now, in his own little dream world. Dean himself had told Sam that he hadn’t wanted to leave the djinn’s dream. To Sam it would seem like a lifetime spent here in this happier world. And Dean was dying anyway. Sam knew he couldn’t stop Dean from going to hell. Was it so bad to leave him with a lifetime of happiness before he had to make the trip? Couldn’t Sam be selfish for once?

As they walk back to the car, Mary links arms with Sam.

“You two had a fight,” she observes.

“Sort of,” Sam replies uncomfortably.

“Have you thought about where you’re going to live after you graduate?” Mary peers up into his face.

“Not really.”

“I know you boys are close but you’re going to have to live on your own sometime.” Mary stops walking entirely. “Sam, I feel incredibly lucky that my sons are so close together. I hear other mothers talk about how difficult it is that their children can’t be in the same room together, and I’m grateful that I have you two, who have always been close. But Sam…there’s such a thing as too close.”

“We’re not too close, Mom,” Sam snaps. “We’re brothers. It’s cheaper to live together.”

“I know.” Mary squeezes his arm and lets it go. “I just want one of you to get started on grandchildren, Sam. I’m not getting any younger and I need to live vicariously through you.” She grins at him as they reach the car. Dean and John are waiting for them. Dean looks wary. Sam doesn’t meet his eyes.

##

When the sirens sounded in the distance on the day that Cal shot Dean dead in the parking lot, Sam ran.

He wanted to hunt Cal down and murder him but he knew the Trickster was the ultimate driving force behind it all and he had to keep focused, stay on track.

If he wasn’t with the body, he’d have a few days as it lay unclaimed in the morgue. A few days to research, to hunt down the son-of-a-bitch Trickster and make him fix things on pain of a stake through the heart.

Sam didn’t let himself think of Dean’s body lying alone in the morgue, his organs being removed and weighed for the autopsy. He didn’t think about it because it wasn’t really Dean, it wasn’t real—he was going to fix this before Dean could even be missed.

The Trickster, of course, was missing, and Sam spent the next three days hunting through town for clues. He called Bobby. He even called Bella, desperate, but she wouldn’t answer her phone.

In a week, the body was buried in a grave marked with a number, no name. Sam knew he was going to have to salt and burn it at some point, but that would be admitting something that wasn’t really true, and Dean wasn’t really dead yet. So Sam found the grave, made a note of where it was, and then continued looking.

On the two-week anniversary of Dean’s death, Sam was still searching, barely sleeping, barely eating.

On the one-month anniversary, Sam stumbled into a vampire nest. It took him longer than it should have to decide to help. He knew that helping was the right thing to do but it was time away from searching and he almost left the vampires to continue unmolested, and damn the consequences. If he could get the Trickster to turn back time, then those victims wouldn’t really have died anyway. At the last second, though, he had the briefest crisis of conscience and he helped them. He didn’t want to think that he might not get the Trickster to turn back time, but if this was some sort of test, he didn’t want to fail.

On the two-month anniversary, Sam stopped booking rooms with double beds.

On the three-month anniversary, Sam understood for the first time why Dean had sold his soul.

##

John shakes hands with both of them when they get back to the house.

“Thank you boys for a wonderful evening,” he says.

Sam grips John’s hand tightly in his own. Something clutches in the back of his throat. “Dad,” he says, but he can’t say anything else.

John’s eyes ease into wrinkles. “Good night, Sam,” he says affectionately.

“Happy anniversary,” Sam manages to choke out before letting go of John’s hand.

Mary squeezes him tight in a hug. “Love you, darling,” she says.

“Love you Mom,” Sam says into his mother’s hair.

Dean jingles his car keys. “We’ll see you next weekend,” he says to John and Mary. Sam manages to tear himself away and step back. His parents wave and then disappear into the house.

“Let’s go,” Dean says shortly, getting back into the Impala. Sam climbs into the passenger’s seat wordlessly.

The car ride back to the apartment is quiet. Sam drums his fingers on his thigh and stares straight ahead.

When they pull into the driveway, Dean shuts the car off but neither of them made any move to get out.

“Sam,” Dean begins, and then stops.

“How did this whole thing start?” Sam asks roughly.

“What…whole thing?”

Sam stares at Dean until he looks away.

“Now you’re pretending you don’t even remember that?” Dean’s mouth twists a little in anger but he doesn’t look like he really means it. Sam just waits.

“I’ve always loved you more than…more than I should,” Dean says to the steering wheel. “Well maybe not _always_ —when you were twelve you were a little bitch—but I just remember when you turned eighteen and said you wanted to go to Stanford and I just couldn’t imagine life without you here…”

“I stayed because of you.” Sam doesn’t phrase it as a question.

Dean looks up at him, his eyes serious. “Do you regret it?”

Sam is startled. “What? No, Dean, no, I—” He stops, looking down at his hands. Who know if he regretted it in this reality? He chews on his lower lip and picks through the truth. “If I’d gone to Stanford and left you behind, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for the time I wasted without you.”

Dean’s face is unreadable. “You wasted a great opportunity just for me. You could have been so much better at Stanford.”

Sam thinks about Stanford, and Jess, and the normal life that could have happened. How was it that in this normal, perfect world, he ended up with the fucked up relationship with his brother?

“It would have been different,” Sam admits.

Dean snorts. “We probably wouldn’t be fucking, for one thing.”

Sam takes a deep breath and decides to go for the question. “It doesn’t bother you that—”

“Of course it bothers me,” Dean cuts him off with a sudden burst of anger. Sam is startled, and the resulting silence is even deeper.

“Look,” Dean continues softly. “I know last night I reacted…badly when you said you wanted to be exclusive. I kind of thought that—I mean, this thing we have…. It’s not normal. It’s wrong, even. I just felt that if we don’t talk about it or make anything out of it, maybe it’s not so wrong as it could be. If we start calling this a real relationship…” Dean sighs.

“I wanted us to be exclusive.”

Dean looks up at him again.

“I know that I asked you not to go to Stanford just so we could try to make something of this…whatever it is we have. And I know that now I’m backing up and saying I don’t want us to be exclusive. I don’t like ultimatums. But I can’t live without you, Sammy. I think of life without you and I just—”

“Yeah,” Sam says hoarsely. “I understand.”

“Don’t leave me, Sammy,” Dean begs.

“I won’t,” Sam replies.

Dean leans forward and Sam closes the last few inches to meet the kiss. Dean’s mouth is familiar and yet new at the same time. Sam closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of aftershave.

##

When Sam turned eighteen years old, he applied to Stanford College and got a full ride. The first person he told was Dean.

Dean punched him in the face.

It wasn’t that Sam wanted to leave Dean; it was just that Sam had been focused on their father, on getting away from the constant fighting, constant moving, the danger, the loneliness. He couldn’t make friends if he stayed with them. He would never have a real job. He would never be able to maintain a relationship, or have a stable address. If he stayed behind, he would never have the kind of normal life that he saw other people having, and above all things, he wanted to be normal.

He knew Dean wouldn’t be able to—or even want to—join him. But he hadn’t really considered what Dean would think of that.

He had spent just about every waking moment of every day outside of school with his brother, and he was ready for a break. In a way he knew that normal people weren’t as close to their brothers as he was. He wanted to be normal.

Dean’s punch, which knocked Sam flat on his ass, came as a complete shock to Sam.

“What did I do wrong, Sammy?” Dean had said soon afterwards, and that came as an even bigger shock.

“Do? You didn’t do anything,” Sam replied, pressing his palm to his mouth and checking for blood. “This isn’t about you at all.”

Dean stood, shaking out his fist and staring down at Sam with an expression Sam could not interpret.

“We’re a family, Sam. You’re breaking up our family.”

“I can’t stay here any longer!” Sam exploded, getting back to his feet. He towered over Dean now but Dean didn’t back down. “This family is fucked up! There is such a thing as too close, Dean. I’m not going to give up my future for a life of credit card fraud and stitching up you and Dad in motel rooms!”

Dean’s fists clenched again and Sam kept himself from taking a step back. “We’re doing good here! We’re helping people! Sure, the life is kind of shit but how can you be so selfish?”

Sam gaped at him in shock. “Selfish? Me, selfish? You want me to stay behind with you and Dad for a life of danger and violence and death and you’re calling _me_ selfish?” Sam flailed his arms to express the utter laughability of the idea. “I’m not a hunter like you and Dad, Dean! I’m little more than a liability to you two. It may not seem like such a bad life to you, but that’s because you’re just like Dad. This life? To me? This is hell, Dean. And I’m not going to stay here because you think the three of us should stick together as a family.” Sam put all of his disgust into the last sentence and felt a small measure of satisfaction at the look of hurt on Dean’s face.

“Fine,” Dean snapped. “Go. Try to live some sort of _normal_ life, but don’t be surprised when it doesn’t work out. We can’t be normal, Sam. Not when we know what we know.”

“I will be normal,” Sam returned coldly. “It’s not as hard as you think it is.”

##

Dean breaks the kiss first. “Let’s go inside,” he says.

Sam unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Dean is first to the front door.

“I’ll be right in,” Sam says.

Dean looks curious but nods. “Sure.” He disappears into the house.

Sam stands next to the car.

“I’m not going to leave you, Dean,” he says out loud.

##

The easiest way to do it was drowning.

When he got to the bridge, Mary, John and Dean were all waiting for him. Mary was crying. He stopped the Impala next to them and got out.

“Son—” John began.

“I know this isn’t real,” Sam interrupts. “I know it’s the djinn. And I’m not going to leave my brother.”

He goes for the railing of the bridge and they lunge to stop him, but he avoids their hands and jumps.

##

Sam awakes, coughing, with a kick to the gut.

“Sorry,” Dean gasps, and there is a whirl of motion and sound. Sam struggles to focus on Dean, riding the djinn to the ground, twisting a chain around its neck. They crash to the floor.

Dean is white-faced and his leg is soaked in blood but his arms strain with ropy muscle and the djinn flails. Sam can see the silver knife on the floor a few feet away.

“Don’t you fuckers breathe?” Dean snarls, twisting the chain.

Sam plants his feet on the floor and looks up to where the chain stretches from his wrists to a hook in the ceiling. He snaps the chain like a whip. On the third try the chain jumps off the hook and rains down on his shoulders.

There is a flash of light from the floor and he turns to see the djinn getting to its feet, Dean lying limp on the ground.

Sam dives for the knife.

The djinn goes for the knife as well and their hands touch it at the same time. Sam closes his fingers over the handle and twists away. The djinn’s palm touches Sam’s forehead and the blue light begins to build. Sam thrusts the knife hard.

The blue light fizzles and Sam is left gasping, staring at the ceiling. Next to him, Dean shifts.

“You awake?” Sam whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “I woke up next to Carmen and shanked myself. Boy was she surprised.”

Sam sits up and looks around. There are three more bodies hanging on chains. Dean is pale and shaky, but he grins up at Sam. “What did you dream about?”

Sam looks down at him. After a pause, he leans down and presses his mouth to Dean’s. It’s almost the same as the kiss in the dream. He pulls away.

Dean blinks up at him, startled. “I’m, uh, happy to see you too,” he says, pink spots appearing in his cheeks.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sam replies.


End file.
